


The Righteous Man

by dcjuris



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Hell Trauma, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:28:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21702172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcjuris/pseuds/dcjuris
Summary: Sam comforts Dean after a particularly horrific nightmare.Set in no specific timeframe - just after they moved into The Bunker.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 117





	The Righteous Man

_Sam's head lolls to the side, his mouth open in a silent plea for mercy. He screamed his voice out three hours ago, but who's counting? His skin is gone, peeled and ripped away by Dean's fingernails. He reaches out weakly, what's left of his body shakes with the effort. He whispers Dean's name. The sound doesn’t come out, but Dean knows the shape of those lips. Knows how they feel against his own, how they feel trailing along his neck. His chest. His cock._

_Dean damned his baby brother long before his eyes went black._

_He plunges the blade into Sam's belly over and over again. The handle is slick and it's hard to hold, but Dean's good at this. Better than he's ever been at anything. He keeps going until Sam's guts are spilling out. Warm blood trickles down his arm. Sam's eyes stare up at him, nearly lifeless._

_Nearly._

_Dean pulls the vial of stolen Grace from his pocket. He pops the top, grabs a fistful of Sam's hair when he makes a weak attempt to resist. Three drops of glowing blue miracle juice and Sam's back to normal—skin and all._

_Dean flips the dagger in the air, catches it. Lather. Rinse. He grins. Repeat._

_"Dean! Dean, please! No! Please!"_

***

Dean jerks awake, heart hammering. He takes a moment to orient himself—he's in bed, in the Bunker. His hand slides to Sam's side with a life of its own, but finds nothing. Dimly he recalls his brother waving off sleep to read. Nerd.

He stumbles to the bathroom and flicks on the light, takes a steadying breath before he opens his eyes. He peers at himself in the mirror. Green. Not black. Not a demon, then. 

He splashes water on his face and heads to the library. Sam's slouched in his favorite chair, nose buried in a book. The sight of him is enough to make Dean's heart jack-rabbit again, but this time it's not fear. It's need. Pure. Raw. Instinct makes his feet move toward the only person in the world who can make it right.

***

Sam looks up when Dean enters. "Can't sleep?"

Dean doesn't respond, just makes his way over, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Before Sam can say anything else, he has a lap full of big brother. Dean pushes his hands up into Sam's hair, tugs Sam's head back and meets their mouths together in a bruising kiss. Dean grinds his hips down hard and Sam can't help the way his own rise up to meet them. 

It's tempting to go along, but Dean's not this kind of lover. It's not like they're never rough with each other—Sam's lost count of how many marks they've left on each other—but Dean never initiates the aggression. Dean only gets like this after demon nightmares, and usually ones where he tortures or kills Sam. Sam drops the book and gets a hand between them, settles it over Dean's heart. "Stop."

Dean mewls and bites down on Sam's bottom lip, tugs hard with a little growl.

"D'n." Sam wrestles Dean's arms from around his neck and pins them loosely behind his back. "Stop."

"Just fuck me," he murmurs against Sam's lips as he struggles. 

"Not like this." He switches his hold, circles both of Dean's wrists in one hand and uses the other to pull Dean's head down onto his shoulder. "Stop."

He bucks but Sam holds on tight, and soon it goes from Dean trying to get away, to Dean pressing his face into Sam's neck. 

"Shhh." Sam kisses the side of his head. 

Dean tries one more time—rears up and grinds down again, even harder than the first time, rubbing his ass over Sam's lap as he sucks on Sam's earlobe. 

Sam takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. No matter what, he can't give into this. They've been there, done that only once. Dean begged for pain and Sam obliged, but Dean either hadn't been aware enough or hadn't cared enough to stop Sam before he actually did damage. Sam vividly remembers the sight of Dean's blood smeared on his thighs, remembers holding his shaking big brother in the aftermath, remembers how much Dean hated himself the next morning. 

He tightens his grip on Dean's wrists and neck. "You're a good man, Dean. Such a good man. And a good big brother. Always looking out for me, always making sure I had whatever I needed. You've always been there for me, Dean, because you're a good person."

Dean huffs out a broken sob. 

"Shhh." Sam threads his fingers up into Dean's hair and gently pulls his head up. Dean's eyes are squeezed tightly shut, his cheeks flushed bright and damp. He peppers kisses over that blush, whispers softly against Dean's skin. "Such a good man. You could never be evil."

He lets go of Dean's wrists, runs his hands over every inch of skin he can reach, petting and caressing in long, firm strokes until Dean is leaning into his hands, eyes still closed but no longer tight. He scratches his fingers over Dean's scalp, gets a pleased little rumble in response. 

Sam cups Dean's cheeks and pulls him in, kissing him slowly, thoroughly, slipping his tongue against his brother's, languishing in the feel of him. He shifts one hand down into Dean's boxers. 

Dean surges toward him at the touch, wraps his arms around Sam's neck. Sam presses their foreheads together and waits until Dean meets his gaze before he starts stroking. 

"Such a good man," he murmurs. "So strong and brave, so compassionate. So giving and loving."

Dean moans and rocks his hips. He digs his fingernails into Sam's back, clinging desperately. 

"Good. Loyal. Gentle. Honorable. Kind. You know you are." Sam speeds up his strokes. "You know I'm right, don't you? You know you're good."

Dean nods jerkily. 

"Say it."

His breath hitches and he shivers. "'m good."

"You're a good man." Sam squeezes. "Say it."

"I'm…a good…man." Dean gasps and shudders as he comes over Sam's fist. 

Sam strokes him through it, wringing everything he can out of his brother. Dean sags against him, boneless and trusting, completely vulnerable. Sam cards the fingers of his clean hand through his hair. "You could never be evil," he whispers. "You're too good to be evil." 

Dean nods and tucks his face against Sam's neck again. Sam holds him quietly, mouthing words of love into his temple until his breathing returns to normal. 

"S'rry," Dean slurs, exhausted. 

"Don't. Don't ever apologize for this." He presses a kiss to the top of Dean's head. "Not for this." He shifts and eases Dean away, but keeps his hands on him. "Wanna try sleeping again?"

Dean doesn't reply, but his hands instantly clench in the fabric of Sam's shirt. 

"I'm coming with you, I promise."

It takes a minute for Dean's panic to recede, for his grip to loosen. He nods and slides off Sam's lap, but he doesn't move away. He lingers close, and Sam understands the unspoken plea. 

Sam rises and wraps an arm around his brother, guides him out of the room and down the hall, holding him tight, giving him the security he needs. Inside their room, he urges Dean into bed, breaks contact only long enough to strip his own clothes off. 

He climbs under the covers and Dean is there immediately, pushing into his space, pressing them together until not even air can come between them. Dean clings and Sam lets him. He runs his hands up and down Dean's back in long, firm strokes. 

"Sammy…" Dean whispers his name like a benediction. "Never wanna hurt you."

Sam wishes he could say something like _you never have_ or _you never will_ , but both of them know that's bullshit. They've hurt each other. They _will_ hurt each other. It's the normal course of relationships everywhere. But there is one thing he's certain of. "It's never on purpose, Dean."

"Never." Dean practically snarls the word. He peers up at Sam through wet lashes. "Never."

"I know." He presses a kiss to Dean's trembling lips. "It's okay. I've got you." 

Dean nods jerkily and tucks his face into Sam's neck. Hot tears slide across Sam's skin. 

"Let it go," Sam murmurs. "I've got you."

Dean shudders hard, gasping with the force of his grief. It's been building for a while—that’s just Dean's way—and when he finally lets his guard down, finally gives in, it's a tidal wave. 

Sam holds on, talks him through it in whispers and promises of safety for them both, affirmations of love and devotion, vows of fidelity. Even after Dean succumbs to the pull of fatigue, Sam holds on. It's his penance—his duty—but even if it weren't, he'd still hold on. Because as much as it hurts, it's also his privilege—his honor. Dean's heart is pure, his trust a gift, precious and sacred, and Sam will hold on to his Righteous Man for eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also a published author. If you like my writing style, look me up on Amazon. I'm DC Juris :-)


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